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One of the most beautiful aspects of Christmas is creating your own traditions within the traditional traditions. Traditionally.

My favourite childhood tradition at this time of year was always getting the decorations down from the loft – along with our tree.

Not just A tree, by the way.

Not just any old tree restrained by a mesh straitjacket, picked up in a nondescript lay-by under the cover of post rush hour darkness. No.

Our tree.

This was the same tree that had been the pillar of presents for my sister and I from 70s & 80s toddlers to 90s teens.

Each year Dad would get the decorations down from the loft and the next day my Mum, my sister and I would decorate the tree – our tree, with hints of fake snow from previous years still clinging to its wiry branches – whilst he was at work

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(My Dad was a prison officer and by way of accentuating how much he really didn’t enjoy decorating the tree he chose to let us do it while he spent working time with some of the nation’s most notoriously dangerous criminals instead.)

Putting up a fake tree is without doubt better than putting up a real tree.

Trying to slide supportive legs into the slots at the bottom of a plastic trunk whilst also ensuring your fingers aren’t carved off like a leg of the Christmas turkey adds a fun family challenge to the whole event.

Also a fake tree doesn’t give away that you’ve been underneath its branches.

No tell-tale needles fall into the hair of a child who crawls beneath a pretend tree to sneak a peek at carefully wrapped presents. That’s a fact.

The imitation tree may not have that same woody-fresh aroma of a real tree but it has an even better smell; the smell of memories, of love… and of dust.

I remember one year we took the tree out of the box and a solitary chocolate decoration was clinging onto one of the branches; a brave survivor of our previous year’s explorative indulgence.

If we’d had a real tree that chocolate would never have been seen again, much less enjoyed 12 months later in all its solidified, furry white glory.

I do see the appeal of a real tree. I love the unexpected festive memories that come flooding back on an afternoon in late April after a needle that has avoided 149 goings over with the vacuum embeds itself into your foot.